Our Only Light in Paradise
by procrastin8or951
Summary: Response to "Chasing the Bus" How do you deal? You just do. Nick/Greg friendship. Oneshot. Review please!


_"We're not running the show."_

_"Yeah. Not yet."_ Nick had no idea what had made him say that. It was true, he knew, but it sounded so… insensitive, almost.

Nick sat in the evidence room, glancing occasionally into the DNA lab. Just making sure Greg was okay after what he'd seen in the field that night.

_"I need a doctor over here. Greg, get some help," Nick said, as he held up the collapsed bus driver. _

_Greg didn't move. His eyes remained glued to the bus driver, to the blood that ran from his mouth. _

_"Greg!" Nick exclaimed, willing Greg to tear his gaze from the injured man. He struggled to hold up the other man, who was much heavier than him. "Greg! Get some help!"_

He almost wished he hadn't yelled like that. It was necessary, but not really the best thing for a guy who was new in the field.

Thinking back, Nick remembered his first time in the field, a particularly gruesome triple homicide. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed his boss to send a new CSI to a scene like that. Trying to desensitize him to it, maybe?

Blood had never been a big deal to him. When he was younger, he found it fascinating. He didn't care about seeing a lot of blood.

_He walked up the front steps of a two-story, beige house, the weight of his kit heavy in his hands, his anxiety building with every step. _

_He pushed the door open and a police officer ran out, across the street to be sick in some bushes. Nick swallowed hard and stepped inside. _

_The air was thick with the scent of copper; he could almost taste it. He shook his head and walked a bit farther in, following the bloody footprints, which pointed toward the front door, across the hardwood floor. _

_He came to an abrupt stop at the door of the kitchen, unable to move any farther. The white walls were stained crimson with blood, the spatter covering every wall, almost from floor to ceiling. It dripped from the counters to join the pools on the floor. _

_The first body, that of a teenager, lay sprawled across the tile floor, coated in sticky blood. The second, an adult female, lay halfway out of the sliding glass door on the other side of the kitchen. He didn't see a third, not yet. _

_"What do you see?" Grissom asked, ready to evaluate. Nick took a deep breath. _

_"Arterial spray, on those two walls. Possible murder weapon on the counter." He pointed. _

_"Good," his boss said. "Now what do you do first?"_

_"Pictures," Nick answered mechanically, attempting to remove himself from the horror of the scene and focus on the task at hand. _

_Grissom nodded as Nick pulled out the camera. _

_They worked the scene, carefully stepping between puddles of blood, snapping pictures, swabbing things. _

_Nick stepped over the body of the woman, outside onto the back porch. He took a picture quickly, avoiding looking at her face. He turned away, and noticed a footprint, in blood, pointing towards the backyard. 'Why are there footprints going away from the scene in two directions?' _

_As he knelt to take a picture, he noticed some drops of blood trailing from the print to the edge of the porch. Standing, he followed, squinting at the little beads of rust-colored liquid. _

_Reaching the back fence, he looked up to find a hand print on the back gate. He took a picture, then carefully lifted the print. _

_He jogged back across the yard, up onto the porch, and stuck his head through the door. "Grissom?" _

_"Over here." Nick walked in the direction from which the voice had come, careful not to mess up the spatter patterns. On the other side of the kitchen counter, Grissom knelt over a third body. _

_The boy's rumpled T-shirt was soaked with blood; the blood matted his hair, covered his face. He looked to be about five years old, his perfect, childish features marred by numerous small cuts and abrasions. An innocent little kid, murdered. _

_Nick spun and rushed out of the house, not stopping until he reached the Denali, where he leaned heavily, gasping for breath and trying not to be sick. _

_"Nick?" Grissom's voice sounded close to him. He opened his eyes. _

_"Yeah?" he panted. _

_"Are you all right?" _

_"Why didn't you tell me the vic was a kid?" Nick asked, avoiding the question. _

_"I didn't know until I saw. I didn't want to make you nervous." Good job of that, Nick thought. It was so much better to find out like __**that.**_ _This was supposed to only be a robbery…_

_Nick just shook his head. "Sorry. I'm okay now." _

_"Did you have something you wanted to tell me?" his boss asked. _

_"Yeah. I found blood drops leading across the yard, and a handprint on the gate. I already lifted the print."_

_Grissom smiled. "Good work."_

As it turned out, the print Nick had found was the case breaker. But that wasn't the part he really remembered.

He could recall that kid, the emptiness of his glassy eyes, the paleness of his skin. He desperately wished to forget it. As first cases went, it was a bad one.

On the other hand, massive accidents like this case with the bus were no picnic either. It was a rough case, any way you looked at it, but especially for someone who had never been in the field before… Blood was scarier when you didn't expect to see it.

"Greg!" he called as the lab tech wandered into the hall, still looking a little high-strung.

Greg turned toward him, and walked into the room. "Yeah?"

"You asked me how you deal." Greg nodded. Nick stood up, walking out of the room, Greg alongside him.

"You just do, right?" he asked, quoting Nick's own words.

"Sort of. It's different for everyone. You have to find something that works for you," he said, leading the way to the break room.

"What do you do?" Greg asked, curiously. Nick closed the door to the break room.

Nick shrugged. "I go running, or I play basketball…Watch a documentary about birds. Something that I like to do where I don't have to think about work. Something to wind down."

"Something I like to do?" Greg repeated. "Like what?"

"Bet you ten bucks I can beat you at a game of Madden," Nick challenged, grinning evilly.

"Oh, you're on!" Greg exclaimed, flipping the TV on.

Almost an hour later, Greg sighed in defeat and handed over a bill. "Okay, okay, you win!" He grinned.

"See?" Nick said. "It works."

"If this is what you have to do to get over stuff, I'm gonna go broke," Greg laughed. "How do I deal with that?"

"Hey, man," Nick smiled. "You just do."


End file.
